


all the lights come on all at once

by fanfictiongreenirises



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 23:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18509482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: “We had a good run, didn’t we, Winghead?” Tony asks.Looking back at their discography… it’s hard to see anything that dims it.





	all the lights come on all at once

**Author's Note:**

> okay according to the Russo brothers' countdown thing on twitter, the official time left till endgame is approximately _SEVEN DAYS ALSKDJGHF_
> 
> for ppl in my corner of the world, we have _just under 4 days YEET_
> 
>  
> 
> The title and fic are inspired by the song ["Psycho" by Amy Shark](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaqoA9g9xOs). Go listen to her she's amazing <3
> 
> See end notes for elaboration on warnings. (It'll spoiler the ending btw)

 “We had a good run, didn’t we, Winghead?” Tony asks. His voice is slow, almost—

Steve’s mind shies away from the word ‘drunk’, but that’s the best adjective. It’s soft and sleepy, hard to understand if Steve hadn’t had a short lifetime of learning to decipher its unique decibels, the meanings behind each individual intonation, the lilts and the stresses.

It brings forth a number of moments and flashes, each one brighter than the previous, even though Steve knows some of their moments were dark. But looking back at their discography… it’s hard to see anything that dims its brilliance. He and Tony shine as bright as a phoenix.

 

* * *

 

Tony closed his eyes as he drew in a breath, seeming to need it to calm himself. “Steve,” he said slowly. “I can’t.”

Steve, leaning against Tony’s desk, smirked down at him. “Yes you can. You’re the boss.”

“Yes,” Tony said slowly. “Who has _shit to do_. I don’t think you understand that there’s an actual workload that comes from being ‘the boss’.”

Steve waited a beat for Tony to think he’d won, before casually asking, “What’s the minimum break your employees take for lunch?”

Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking off his glasses. Steve frowned a little seeing them; Tony only ever used them when tiredness made his eyes scratchy. “Thirty minutes,” he said shortly. “But that’s my employees.”

Steve hummed in response. “So what makes you any different?”

Tony stared at him. “I’m their boss? I choose my work hours?” He said it in that tone Steve hated – when it was aimed at him, that is – the one that implied his audience had cow dung for brains.

“So why can’t you take your lunch break _now_ instead of being stubborn about it and wasting time?” he countered evenly, fighting the urge to smile. Steve, for reasons unbeknownst, was in a terrific mood, which deemed to drive Tony farther down his black one.

“I have work to do, Cap! I have too much that needs to be done _today_ that I’ve been putting off because of Avengers business. I have two full-time jobs, in case you forgot.” The glare Steve was on the receiving end of would make most villains cower, but Steve wasn’t daunted. He was Captain fucking America, and it was his mission to make Tony take a thirty-minute break.

“Tony,” he said gently. “I know you do. And I love that you can juggle them both. But you’re only human—”

Tony snorted. “Unlike you, Mr Peak of Humanity.”

Steve sighed. “You’re only human, and you need to take a break so you can actually _do_ your job. Both of them.”

“Steve, I’ve been taking care of myself and my _human needs_ long before I met you. Trust me when I say that _I’m fine_.” Tony’s voice hadn’t risen in volume, but there was a steely undertone to it.

“There’s a specific calorie intake I need to meet daily,” Steve said, ignoring him.

“I _know_.”

“The same goes for _everyone_. So come out to lunch with me, and we’ll get you your fill, and you’ll stop being so cranky and come back to work.” He looked Tony in the eye as directly as possible. “Thirty minutes. I promise.”

And when Tony hesitated, Steve’s face broke into a massive grin, and he leaned forward to kiss him, just once, softly.

 

* * *

 

There’s a reddish sort of light around them, and it makes Steve’s heart quicken. Red he’d always associated with blood, with flashes of gunfire, paint dripping down a canvas, coloured lips stretching into a smile. Until he left Tony into his life. After Tony, it meant the armour. It meant Iron Man.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? That distinction? There would always be _before’s_ and _after’s_ in Steve’s life, the biggest being the ice. But somehow Tony Stark had weaselled his way into second biggest.

 

* * *

 

“Absolutely devastating, isn’t it?” The white-haired lady pressed a bejewelled hand to her breast, face a cartoonish depiction of sympathy. “Those poor creatures.”

Steve felt a sense of loathing wash over him, watching as she gestured, knowing full well that Tony had sicced him onto her because she was so attached with her wealth. “I agree,” he said, giving her his best smile. “It’s horrible. They badly need funding.”

He was, as Tony would say, _laying it on thickly_. But after his years of attending the events that the Foundation hosted, he’d come to the realisation that it was necessary. And it left him with a Robin Hood feeling.

The lady – whose name Steve couldn’t recall, and hopefully he’d be able to move on smoothly before he needed to use it – waved her hand once more, huge rings flashing in the light. “Absolutely, dear. My granddaughter, god bless her, actually…”

Steve’s brain stopped processing her words the moment his eyes caught hold of Tony’s from across the room. Dressed in a fitting tuxedo, Tony was a sight to behold. Every facet of his appearance was immaculate, features groomed to perfection. In his hands was a glass that Steve knew held a substance that appeared to be champagne but was definitely non-alcoholic.

And then Tony turned around and saw Steve looking. Rather than fighting a blush and turning away, as Steve typically did, he gave Tony a smile. Tony returned it, and the full force of his upturned mouth combined with that look in his eyes, like they were sharing a secret, was enough to fill Steve’s chest with a warmth he hadn’t felt all evening.

But just as he was about to turn back to his talkative lady partner, he caught a glimpse of a man appearing just behind Tony, reaching out with a hand for his elbow. His heart tightened, and for a moment it almost felt as though some of his pre-serum afflictions had returned.

But no – it was only Tiberius Stone. _Ty_ , as Tony called his partner. The person who had been brave enough, fast enough, to do what Steve still hadn’t worked up the guts to do. And he wasn’t even a decent human being, from what Steve could see. But it wasn’t up to him who Tony chose to date, bed, maybe wed… he didn’t have the right to an opinion when he couldn't voice his truth.

“You okay, Cap? Lookin’ a little lost there, pal,” a voice murmured beside him, holding a plate piled with shrimp in one hand and a glass in the other.

“Fine,” Steve said, glancing at Clint. He reached out and grabbed a piece from Clint’s plate, huffing a laugh as he received a glare of betrayal.

“See, I came here to suggest maybe me casually spilling all this onto Stone over there, but now…” Clint waggled his eyebrows, plate and glass switching hands smoothly to move the shrimp away from Steve.

Steve sighed, and entertained the idea for a moment before shaking his head. “What’s the point in two of us being unhappy? And with my luck, they’d probably strip and have sex in the bathroom,” he said forlornly.

Clint choked on a shrimp. As Steve thumped him on the back lightly, he said, “Your mind goes to all sorts of places, doesn’t it?”

Steve hummed.

At that moment, Tony walked over to the two of them, Ty in tow. “Fellas,” he said as greeting. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Mr Stone,” Steve held out a hand to shake, and if he gripped a little harder than usual, no one else would know.

“Call me Ty, Cap. Any friend of Tony’s is a friend of mine.” Steve had let go of any attempt to hold an unbiased opinion of Ty by now, and could safely say that his smile was sleazy, his grip was slack, his posture was shit, and who the fuck had told him it was alright to call him ‘Cap’?

He forced a smile at the man anyway; no point in making Tony feel that there was animosity between them.

“ _Shit_ —” What followed was a string of low curses streaming out of Ty’s mouth as he stared down at his pristine dress shirt, now covered in some sort of bright red beverage. Steve hadn’t even known they had them.

“Aw, shit, man. I’m sorry,” Clint said in apology. “Here, lemme help you.” And with that, he somehow managed to drag Ty away from them, winking at Steve as he went.

Steve blinked like a deer caught in the headlights. What had just happened?

“So…” Tony said. “That happened. I’m sure I’ll get an earful tonight about how it.” He seemed to be much more cheerful about the whole situation than appropriate.

Steve had no idea how to respond. “Want to dance?” his mouth said as his brain watched along in horror.

Tony peered at him inquisitively for a moment, head almost tilting to the side. Just as Steve was about to retract it, he said, “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

The sky is falling around Steve. There is something booming in the background, but Steve, for the life of him, can’t place his finger on it. It doesn’t matter at this moment. The fact that the earth is hard and rocky against his knees, that they’re lying in what felt like a giant puddle, that Steve can feel his shield resting next to him; none of that matters.

What does matter is the way that the armour is caved inwards, how the metal is bent at just the wrong place and the wrong angle. It matters because it’s the direct cause of Tony’s rattling breaths, and the way his fingers are becoming more and more lax in Steve’s as time goes on. 

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said miserably.

“For what?” Tony asked, a genuine question.

“It’s raining and we’re both soaked on our first date.”

Tony laughed. “Steve, this is perfect. This is like every rom-com ever.”

“You and I have very different experiences with rom-coms,” Steve responded, but he could feel his mood lift at Tony’s words and his face and his expression and how his hand came to grip Steve’s own.

“Guess I’ll just have to fix that.” With that, Tony placed a hand to the back of Steve’s head, and leaned forward slowly until his lips met Steve’s. 

And then they were kissing, perfectly cliché in the middle of the pathway with rain pouring over them. Hands gripped together tightly as their mouths explored one another, becoming versed in their own language, one that Steve didn’t want to share with anyone but Tony. The rain, the street, the pedestrians hurrying by… they all faded away for one long instant as time allowed them a slot separate from reality.

 

* * *

 

Steve stifles a sob. “Yeah, Shellhead,” he says. “We had the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! pls leave a kudos or comment (steve and tony would want you to ;) )
> 
> Warnings:  
> The ending implies that Tony's dying/dead, but it's never confirmed.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [But We Were In Screaming Colour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518530) by [Lesty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesty/pseuds/Lesty)




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